I Wanted to Say This
by Kerosene Stevens
Summary: After a nasty argument amongst each other, the team separates to cool off and calm down. But when an alert sent out by SHIELD tells them Tony and the Tower have been attacked, the rest are forced to come back together and solve their problems in order to assist their stricken team mate.
1. Chapter 1

_So I'm jumping the gun a bit, here. I don't even know if the prompters for this like it yet. Oops. Therefore, the warning goes out that this first chapter is subject to change. That aside, I'd really love to hear your thoughts!_

_**8**_

"Could you quit being such a prick for like, five seconds?" That's Barton, scowling at him over the quiver laid out on the counter. He's counting his arrows or something, who the hell cares.

"You stop being a prick," Tony wants to say, but that's childish and would only prove Barton's point. Instead he shrugs and says, "Baby, I was born this way," and judging by the way Barton's face is purpling that was the exact wrong thing to counter with.

"Do you have to be so insensitive?" Romanov hisses at him from her place next to Barton, and Tony wants to bang his head on the table. He didn't mean to make a crack at Barton's sexuality, honest - Tony himself is bi and could care less. But the man's lashing out at everyone and the arguing is giving him a headache.

"I just don't understand why you'd date a man," Rogers says, and he's trying hard to be casual and modern about things, but years of homophobia is ingrained in his system. He honestly doesn't understand and it's taking a toll. "Isn't it still frowned upon in society?"

"Are you 'frowning upon' me?" Barton spits, jamming the arrowhead in his hands straight into Tony's counter.

"Oi!" Tony says, alarmed. "Be nice to my stuff, okay?"

He's collectively ignored. "I'm not frowning upon you," Rogers says, but he's totally frowning, "I just don't think your downtime practices need to interfere with the job -"

"Downtime practices?" Barton repeats. "Interfering with the job? I'm sorry, but when Thor got dumped he was allowed to mope for a week. I'm not allowed to be upset that my boyfriend broke up with me?"

"Do not bring my emotional distress into this debate," Thor says hotly, clutching his hammer. He looks ready to throw it and that makes Tony very nervous. "It is not my fault nor Jane's if you make yourself argr."

Tony sucks in a breath. He's had that discussion with Thor already, with Jarvis playing translator as the god threw words around that didn't fit in the English language. By the look of it, Barton's gotten it, too, and so has Romanov. "Wow, Thor," he tries, "don't gotta be so harsh."

"I will speak as I please when my honor is scorned so," Thor says angrily, glaring daggers at the archer.

"Your honor means jack shit to me right now," says Barton, dismissive.

"Uh," Tony tries again, "let's not piss off the god of thunder, okay?"

"I agree with Tony," Bruce puts in from Tony's right, setting down his cup of tea. "I'd rather not risk a rampage. The stress might make my control slip."

"Please don't," Tony squeaks.

"Why is it always about the Hulk with you?" Barton demands. "Is that all you care about?"

"I don't much like killing people and leveling cities," Bruce says evenly. "That's what happens with the Hulk. If we could just diffuse the situation, I'd appreciate it, my blood pressure is skyrocketing and I just -"

"You should be proud of your beast," Thor rumbles, successfully distracted (for now). "He is a worty warrior, unlike yourself."

"I'm fine this way, thank you," Bruce replies mildly.

"At least the Hulk is a worthy team mate," Thor grumbles. "You all are so small and childish. I will not stand for it." He lifts Mjolnir, and Tony flinches as his window gets smashed.

"Hey," he calls, but Thor jumps out the window and flies away. Tony only hopes he won't leave the city.

"What a dick," Barton mutters. They all turn to look at him. "What?" he says defensively. "He was being an ass."

"He's a prince," Bruce says. "Try not to let it bother you."

"Bother me!" The archer glares. "How should I not let it bother me?"

"Your sexuality bothers him," Rogers points out, immediately looking like he wishes he hadn't when Barton turns the look on him.

"You still got a problem with me?"

"It just - the idea makes me uncomfortable -"

"Then take your discomfort to a different floor!"

Tony leans forward. "Guys, let's just take a minute and -"

"Shut up, Stark." Rogers just shakes his head and storms away, snatching up his comm off the table by the elevator. The doors slide open and close silently behind him.

Tony breaks the silence with, "Did you really have to put a hole in my counter? Yes, you have nice arms, we all know and appreciate this, but next time please take your frustrations and your muscles somewhere that doesn't feature my furniture. Okay?"

Barton looks thoroughly sickened. "You're disgusting," he growls. "What part of 'just broke up with boyfriend' did you miss? And you're pulling that shit?" He scoffs. "I wouldn't go for you if you were the last guy on earth."

That actually stings a little. "Well, you don't have to be rude about it," he mutters, crossing his arms. Bruce pats his shoulder consolingly.

Barton wrenches the arrowhead out of his counter. "You're all jackasses. I need a minute or twenty."

He gets up, snatching his quiver and bow off the damaged counter, and leaves.

Finally Romanov stands. "Really, Stark?" she asks despairingly. "Do you not realize that flirting is the worst possible thing to do at this moment?"

"Sorry," he says immediately, reflexively. "For the record, I don't think I deserved any of the nasty comments directed at me."

She shakes her head. "Think before you speak and it won't be such a problem."

"I do think," he protests. "I just have less time to think when everyone's gearing up to bite each other's heads off."

"Think faster, then," she says shortly. "Do us a favor and don't try to play camp counselor, okay? You're making it worse."

The elevator doors open for her. "Stay put," Romanov says, and she steps into the lift. The doors close.

Tony groans. "Why me?"

"It's for the best," Bruce says consolingly. "You don't have the greatest brain-to-mouth filter, after all."

"Yeah." Tony sighs. "But this isn't entirely on me. Right?"

"Right," confirms Bruce. "Now, I'm going to go find Thor and drag him off to Canada or something, where we won't level cities. And um, maybe consider following Agent Romanov's advice, alright?"

"What, stay put?"

"That." One more shoulder pat. "Be good," Bruce teases, and then he leaves, too. Tony just sits there for a good fifteen more minutes, finishing Bruce's tea because why the hell not.

"Jarvis," he says at last, "activate the trackers. If I'm not allowed to go chasing after them, I at least have the right to know where they are."

"If you say so, sir," is his AI's answer. Of course, this is when the intruder alarms go off.

Of course.


	2. Chapter 2

"Clint! Clint, wait."

Barton pauses, feeling five kinds of unfriendly, and turns around to see Natasha jogging up to him.

"Hey," she says when she catches up. He just grunts and goes back to stomping up the street. This time, she keeps pace with him. "You know they don't mean it."

"Bullshit," he snaps. He thinks of Stark's eyes and Banner's downturned mouth and Thor's grip on Mjolnir and Rogers's fidgeting and Natasha's silence. It cut deep.

"Okay, they meant it," she relents, "but not the way you think."

Right," he snorts. To use an example, "Because Thor never takes his own manhood and honor seriously."

"Thor's from a different planet, Clint -"

"Rogers isn't," and he knows he's starting to get petty but he was hurt and they were jerks and so he feels he has the right.

"Rogers is from a different time. You can't hold it against him. He's still trying to wrap his head around digital clocks, no matter how well he hides it. You know him - he's got to completelt understand how it works, not just the fact that it does work. He doesn't get what changed in people yet, is all."

She's silent for a few minutes after her speech, letting it sink in. And it does. Clint can feel his angry defensiveness fading the longer he thinks about it. It doesn't solve the problem, but the whole situation this morning seems a little less harsh.

"Clint," she tries again.

"I know," he says gruffly. "It's just - hard. Stark didn't help."

"Please," she scoffs, smirking, "that was him trying and you know it."

"Pretty pathetic."

"I know."

She digs into her pockets and pulls out his wallet, tossing it to him. He catches it and wonders how he left it behind.

She smirks; maybe he didn't leave it, after all. "Bob's Burgers, on you?"

He rolls his eyes but can't help the smile. "Fine. But no bitching about my extra large chocolate malt."

**8**

"Doctor Banner, are you well?"

"Oh, sure," Bruce puffs, flat on his back on half-frozen earth without a shirt or shoes. Or underwear, for that matter. Tony should really work on making stretchy briefs to go with the stretchy pants. "I'm wonderful. Did you have to dump Hulk in the lake? I think I'm going hypothermic."

Thor grins. "Do not worry," he says, "the flight back to New York will dry you off."

"And turn me into an icicle, and you know it," Bruce returns, making a face. He swears he can feel his back hair clinging to the icy ground as he sits up.

"A hulksicle?" Thor teases. "Stark will enjoy that name thoroughly."

Bruce groans. "Please don't."

His grin widens. "We shall see." He offers a hand, which Bruce takes, and helps the smaller man to his feet. "How shall we get home, then?"

Bruce looks around the devastated lakeside clearing, at the shattered ice, the splintered trees, the gaping craters in the cracked ground. It's all a little blurry, which is easily remedied by his... by his broken glasses at Thor's feet. He shrugs. "We're a good twenty miles away from any sort of civilization," he says. "Do you have your phone?"

"No," answers Thor, "but I have my comm. "Does this help?"

Bruce makes a face. "Not really." A cold wind blows through the clearing, from the mountains, and he shudders.

Thor notices. "Are you alright?"

"Cold," Bruce replies, "and half-naked."

"Ah." Thor nods his understanding. He shivers again, and this time it doesn't stop until there's a heavy cloth draped over his shoulders.

"Thanks," Bruce says, startled. The cape is still warm. Thor smiles.

"I certainly don't need it," he aays. "Altough I'd like it back sometime."

"I'll have it dry-cleaned," Bruce deadpans, but he really does appreciate it. A thought strikes him. "Hey, Thor?"

"Hm?"

"Your cape," he says, wondering how to word this, "it's a... sign of adulthood. Right?"

"Indeed," Thor confirms with pride. "It shows all that I have become a man."

That's what Bruce thought. "And you just let me borrow it."

"I did."

"Does that... diminish your manhood in any way?"

Thor looks affronted. "Of course not."

Now to really test the waters. "You're still a warrior and all."

"I am."

"So... Steve doesn't have a cape."

"No...?"

"So is he lesser?"

"No." And now he's starting to look suspicious. "Why?"

Bruce wonders if this is really a good idea. Sexuality can't really be compared to a cape, anyway. "Clint doesn't have a cape, either."

Thor stiffens. "I do not wish to talk about this."

"But Thor," he presses, "Clint works with us, too, as an Avenger."

"It is different."

"It really isn't."

Thor huffs. "If I swear to think on this, may we end the conversation?"

Bruce considers this. "Fine."

"Thank you." And he really does look relieved. "Let us attempt to contact the others."

**8**

Steve parks after a few hours to take a breather, to feel something other than frustration and cold wind knifing through his clothes. He's on the outskirts of the city by now, having been driving his bike for the last hour.

He doesn't really want to think about what happened at the Tower, but he knows he upset Clint. It's just, it's hard to separate his time from now. His morals and laws versus today's morals and laws.

He does know he upset Clint, though. And he should apologize. He just needs time to figure out how to mean it the way the agent would want it to. And if that means taking time away to come to terms with reality, then fine. The last thing he wants is to mess up with his team mates again.

He can do this, he thinks. He can be open-minded and not judgemental and work with his team and -

His comm, hooked up in his ear, squeals to life.

"Avengers," Fury snaps over the line, "call in. Where the hell are you?"

"This is Hawkeye and Widow," Barton's voice comes in, Natasha's voice echoing in the background.

"Banner and I are still in Canada," Thor announces over the comm, and then, "Doctor Banner! The comm has activated!"

Quieter, "That's great, Thor. Ask them for a ride."

Steve clears his throat. "This is Rogers."

There's a moment's pause while they all wait for Stark.

"Anybody seen Stark?" he asks.

"Stark's unavailable at the moment," Fury says.

"Sir?" Barton asks. "What happened?"

"Avengers Tower was attacked," Fury says grimly. "Stark was caught in the crossfire. Get your asses to HQ."

The line clicks off to a chorus of protests and requests for information.


	3. Chapter 3

They unwittingly meet up on the common floor of the Tower, weaponry in hand. Natasha looks up from where she's digging a pistol out from between the couch cushions to see Steve marching out of the elevator, shield on his arm. Clint pops out of his room with his quiver slung over his shoulder and freezes when he catches sight of the Captain.

He and Steve eye each other for a moment, eventually nodding in a silent agreement to solve their problems later.

"Ready to go?" Rogers asks, and Barton gestures with his bow in one hand.

"Bruce and Thor are already up top with transport," he answers. Natasha says nothing, pocketing her fourth gun and snapping her Bites onto her wrists. "Let's go."

"The elevator won't go past this floor," Steve says, brows furrowed. "Something about damage to the floor above us."

Clint frowns. "We'll take the stairs, then. Might give us an idea of what to prepare for if we get a look at the damage."

"Good idea," Steve compliments, casting the elevator a grim look.

Clint nods, slightly mollified. "Lead the way, Cap."

**8**

Steve freezes in the doorway that opens up to the penthouse floor. Clint, only half paying attention, is saved from colliding with kevlar and muscle by Natasha's slim hand grabbing his shoulder and yanking him back into full awareness. He pushes on Rogers's back.

"Cap?" he says when Steve doesn't budge.

"It's a mess," Steve says, in a worryingly distant voice. He finally steps forward, allowing the two agents to pass.

What they see shocks them.

The cliche phrase "it looks like a tornado hit" comes to mind. It's often used in terms of a messy room or a stack of papers hitting the floor. But the penthouse looks like an actual natural disaster occurred within its walls.

Burn marks and deep gouges scar the walls and ceiling. The hardwood floor is stained, sooty, and splintered in places. Tony's bar is a shambles, glass everywhere and the acrid stench of various alcohols tainting the air. The marble counter is cracked in half. Chairs have been tossed about haphazardly, the sofa's in cottony pieces, the television is sticking out of the wall. Dust and plaster are everywhere. The windows have been completely destroyed. Someone tore off the refrigerator door and pitched it across the room. An Iron Man suit lies in jagged pieces on the carpet. Several rusty puddles of blood of varying sizes soak into the fibers not five feet away from the all know whose it is.

"Christ," Clint says faintly. He clears his throat when his voice cracks, and tries again. "Shit."

"Well," Natasha says slowly from Steve's left, "now we have a better idea of what to expect at HQ."

"We should have our own parking spit outside Medical," Rogers agrees. He reaches towards a damaged vase on its cracked pedestal, his hand pausing at the last second before withdrawing. It falls limply by his side.

"Thor and Bruce are waiting for us on the top floor," Natasha reminds them all. "If they haven't seen it yet, tell them what we've found. We can discuss this situation together."

**8**

As it turns out, both Bruce and Thor have already seen the disaster that is currently the penthouse. When informed of this, Clint and Steve just sort of nod and go quiet. They seat themselves across from each other in the quinjet - recently upgraded by Tony - and fidget in silence while the SHIELD-sanctioned pilot takes off with Natasha in the co-pilot seat.

Eventually, Thor speaks. "I am sorry, friend Barton."

"'S great," Clint mutters. "I don't really wanna -"

"I'm sorry, too," Steve cuts in. "I've had time to think about it -"

"It's fine," snaps Clint. Just when he's been able to push aside his misery, now he has the breakup to think on along with worry for Tony. Who he might've been an ass to. "Let's just - who attacked the Tower, and what were they there for?"

"Judging by the damage to the walls," Natasha puts in over the comm, "some offshoot of AIM or similar."

Steve rubs his hand over his face. "Great," he jokes half-heartedly, "more evil technology I won't understand."

He's referencing the last time they fought an AIM wannabe, wherein Steve misunderstood the green blinking light on one of their weapons as meaning okay to pick up, and accidentally blasted his shield with a blue laser. The laser had ricocheted and hit Natasha in the ass; her uniform turned into pink cotton.

Clint cracks a small smile at the memory.

"Yeah," Bruce says flatly, "except how they stole a repulsor straight off Tony's suit."

A horrified silence falls at the thought.

Clint breaks it with, "But they would've had to shut down the suit."

"And pry Stark away from it," Steve adds, frowning.

"But then Jarvis could've -" Natasha breaks off, considering. "Did anybody check on Jarvis?"

A moment of pause, then a chorus of "shiiiiit" and "no" in answer.

"Well," she says exasperatedly, "he could've answered our questions, don't you think?"

"Either Jarvis or Tony must've had at least some control over the armor," Bruce reasons. "The suit's arc reactor was hidden in the fridge, and the other three repulsor ports were smashed to pieces."

"That... doesn't make it any better," says Natasha.

"Jarvis hears our conversations, does he not?" Thor offers. "Can we not call him now?"

Bruce shakes his head. "Tony told me once that Jarvis can only break into the system through his commlink."

"I see," says Thor, visibly disappointed.

"How bad d'you think it's gonna be?" Steve asks in hushed tones. He's not talking about Jarvis.

Clint shakes his head. "We'll find out when we get there."

**8**

The helicarrier is almost too busy to land on, as per usual. Agents scatter and the deck clears slowly, leaving just enough room for Natasha and the pilot to land safely. Once the engines are switched off, everyone goes back to their business. They all make a point to avoid eye contact with the Avengers as they march to the medical wing.

Natasha notices. "What's going on?" she wonders in an undertone.

Clint rolls his shoulders into a shrug as a response.

The med doors open for them smoothly, doctors and agents ducking past them. The Avengers, even down one team mate, are intimidating as hell. More so, perhaps, when they're here for a missing member.

Yet, for some reason, the secretary at the front desk looks nothing short of confused to see them.

"Is there something I can do for you?" he asks, polite to a fault. The Avengers all look at each other.

"We're here for Tony Stark," Bruce says eventually, a strange look on his face, because who else would they be here for?

"Oh!" the young man exclaims, understanding. "He's not here. Director Fury asked you to meet him in the cockpit, though."

They all look at each other again.

"Thank you," Steve says, and they turn around to leave.

"You're... welcome," the secretary says to their backs.

**8**

The "cockpit", as it's called, is actually where the team first met. Rows of consoles and monitors attended by agents take up the front half of the room, facing a wall of windows. There's a short set of stairs, and then the controls for the helicarrier, where Fury tends to stand. Behind that is a massive holo-interface table for meetings and declassified debriefings. Doors into labs and meeting rooms line the back wall.

The team enters cautiously, unsure as to why they're here. Fury has taken a seat at the table, a silent signal to the agents around them that a meeting is in session. Nobody will come near unless there's a life or death situation Fury needs to know about.

"Take a seat," he says when they come near. They obey silently. "Now," he continues, leaning forward in his seat, "you wanna tell me why you weren't around when Stark needed you to be?"

Clint winces inwardly. "I started an argument," he volunteers. "We all split up to cool off."

"Is this about your ex-boyfriend?" Fury asks seriously.

Clint just nods, surprised. Fury's gaze sweeps over the rest of the team.

"And you all had a problem with this?" he says neutrally.

"Not anymore," Steve promises, then, "well. I'll do my best to make it that way."

"I as well," Thor says somberly. "I have come to understand that though friend Barton lacks his metaphorical cape, he is no less of a warrior."

To his right, Bruce facepalms. Thor pats his back. "Doctor Banner shall continue to explain it to me in ways I am comfortable to understand," he adds.

"Sure," Bruce says, voice muffled by his hands.

Fury sits back. "Is that all?" he demands. "That's it? Your team mate's sexuality?"

They nod.

He sighs, aggravated. "This absolutely cannot happen again. Your petty argument over nothing - because Barton's preferences are so far from important enough to split the team, I can't even tell you - has cost you an Avenger." He reaches into his trench coat and tosses a plastic bag onto the table.

"What-?" But then Clint gets a good look at its contents. Bruce gasps.

It's the arc reactor, glowing bright blue like it does when it's under Tony's shirt. There's what Bruce recognizes as the base plate in the bag as well, along with dozens of bolts, wires, and several round metal caps. The metal pipe that houses the reactor is also in there, silicon pieces spilling out of it. A dozen sharp shards of metal threaten to tear the bag open.

Steve pales. "Then he's -?"

"If SHIELD hadn't arrived when they did," the Director says, "Stark would've died. As it is, he's of no use to the team."

"Is he well?" Thor inquires, staring down at the bag of shrapnel and reactor parts.

"Can we see him?" Natasha questions, resolutely looking everywhere but at the bag.

"Oh, sure," says the director. He checks his watch. "Right on time, too."

Behind them, a door slides open and closes. The Avengers sit around the table, watching warily as he sits in silence. Then, he jerks to the side with an "oof!"

"Furry!" a small child's voice says. A small hand to match the voice tugs on his trench coat. "Furry, you said!"

"I did," he says placidly. "You're right on time. Good job." He reaches down and hauls a toddler on to his lap. The child squeals with delight, arms flailing, until he notices the team.

"Furry," the toddler says, one hand creeping towards his mouth. His brown eyes are wide and a little fearful. "Who they?"

"They're the Avengers," Fury says calmly. He ruffles the boy's dark hair. "Say hello."

"Hello," the kid says obediently. "My name is Antony -"

"Anthony," Fury corrects, with a surprising amount of gentleness.

"- Anthony," the boy continues without missing a beat, "but Furry says Tony sometimes. So I'm Tony, too."

Steve makes a choking sound.

"Congratulations," Fury says dryly. "It's a boy."


End file.
